


There's Loneliness In Being Sick

by 2queer4here



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Butchering, COVID-19, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Coronavirus, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Sick Fic, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2queer4here/pseuds/2queer4here
Summary: Outside the land was still. There wouldn’t be any rescue vehicles or concerned do-gooders coming down the road for a long time, not until long after Rose was gone. Further into the heartland of Texas, almost 70 miles away, a man left his home in a stolen police car with a stolen police officer’s uniform and set out to find dinner. It would take him an hour and a half to find Rose asleep in her car, two minutes to come up with a plan, another two minutes to wake her up, and ten minutes to convince her to get in his car.The two would drive the 70 miles back to the man’s home, Rose would get suspicious of him in only twenty, and in the end it would take seven long drawn out minutes for her to die. She would leave behind her car, all evidence of who she was and where she had been, her hopes and dreams, her plans for college next month, and her father. Her father, a sweet little man down in Arizona, who would spend every minute of his life for the next forty-five years missing his baby girl who had become victim to the most brutal cannibal family the world had known.The Hewitt family is unknowingly introduced to an illness from their latest victim-turned-dinner, and one by one it picks them off.
Kudos: 9





	1. The Sickness Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Just another warning that this does NOT have a happy ending for anyone. 
> 
> I wanted to experiment with the idea of a virus being able to be spread via cannibalism and the Hewitt's contracting said virus.

This was a bad idea. Rose had been so sure this solo roadtrip had been a bad idea from the beginning, but still she let her father talk her into it. He only had good intentions for pushing; she did have some attachment issues to settle before college and being away from daddy for two weeks was a good place to start but she had gotten a feeling, a terrible sense of foreboding at the idea. Still, her father was persistent and away Rose went in their reliable RV on a driving trip across Texas. Except the station wagon hadn’t been so reliable in its old age afterall and she had no clue how to read an old school map and she was stranded without cell phone service on the side of the road in blistering heat with the hood of her car smoking and another bad feeling bubbling inside her gut. 

  
  
  


“Dammit!” Rose cursed. If her phone was working she could have found some information online about what was wrong with the station wagon, or at least a YouTube video about it. She also could have called a towing company. But she didn’t have any of those options now, and she slammed the hood of the beat up vehicle back down with an echoing bang. 

  
  
  


The sun would be setting soon. If she couldn’t figure it out before dark then she would be a sitting duck for anything out here. She wiped the beading sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her flannel. “Sitting duck for what?” She grumbled to herself. Technically there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. She was by herself on the side of a dusty road that hadn’t seen any signs of life since she broke down almost an hour ago. All that was on the other side of each lane was miles of flat dehydrated grass, golden from the sun, and the occasional clouds of dust and dirt blowing by in the wind. If there was some big bad monster out to get her Rose would be able to see it coming. 

  
  
  


It was just that damned feeling; that feeling of dread that had first been piqued by her father’s proposal of the roadtrip, growing into something bigger each mile she drove away from home. At first she had played it off, just being uncomfortable without the man she had spent the last 18 years of her life attached at the hip to. But the more Rose drove, and the longer she stood on the road, the feeling turned to something else, something more sinister. It was as if every part of her body was screaming at her to turn around. To run, to go back home to her dad and her dog Marty and everything familiar in her town where she would be safe and sound. Someplace there wasn’t any boogeyman. 

  
  
  


But Rose had the softest spot in the world for her father and if he wanted her out on the road then out on the road she would be. She had briefly considered holing up in a motel room someplace tucked out of the way for the full two weeks, but the thought of lying to her dad made her feel queasy. 

  
  
  


“It could always be worse.” Rose said to herself, kicking at dick uselessly. The car would probably smell like gasoline if it was about to explode, but it didn’t smell like anything. Or at least she thought it didn’t. Her sense of smell was off lately, muted and by extension so were her taste buds. Every burger she ate tasted like nothing, like she was chewing on textured air, and there were angrily crumpled fast food wrappers littering the floor of the station wagon to attest to it. Not even milkshakes tasted good. It was probably just because of her nose. Annoying, but it would go away. Her body was probably coming down with something from all her stress, her weakened immune system catching onto every bug. It would be fine. She would be fine. Now she had a decision to make: she could stay by her car waiting until someone else came along the road or she could start walking and hope that she ended up someplace with reception or someone who could help her.

  
  
  


The thought of sitting alone for what could be hours in the growing dark didn’t sound appealing, but walking in the sizzling Texas heat also didn’t sound fun. Rose bit at her nails as she weighed each option. Neither, she didn’t want to do either of those things, but doing nothing wasn’t an option. “God this sucks.” She muttered looking down the way she had come and hoping there would be an answer in the form of a passing car.

  
  
  


No such luck. 

  
  
  


Rose groaned to herself having made a decision and went to sit in the station wagon. She downed the last of her water bottle, making note that she was stuck with one more and one can of soda in the cooler sat in the backseat. Shhe rubbed her temple feeling her eyes throb from the headache she’d been nursing for the better part of the day. She reclined her seat, rolled down the window for any incoming breeze, and laid down making herself comfortable. “I should have brought a book.” She mumbled as her eyes closed. She wouldn’t fall asleep, not out here, she would just rest her eyes until her head felt better. Just for a minute or two. 

  
  
  


Outside the land was still. There wouldn’t be any rescue vehicles or concerned do-gooders coming down the road for a long time, not until long after Rose was gone. Further into the heartland of Texas, almost 70 miles away, a man left his home in a stolen police car with a stolen police officer’s uniform and set out to find dinner. It would take him an hour and a half to find Rose asleep in her car, two minutes to come up with a plan, another two minutes to wake her up, and ten minutes to convince her to get in his car. The two would drive the 70 miles back to the man’s home, Rose would get suspicious of him in only twenty, and in the end it would take seven long drawn out minutes for her to die. She would leave behind her car, all evidence of who she was and where she had been, her hopes and dreams, her plans for college next month, and her father. Her father, a sweet little man down in Arizona, who would spend every minute of his life for the next forty-five years missing his baby girl who had become victim to the most brutal cannibal family the world had known. 

  
  
  


For now though the sun drooped lower in the sky and the rustling of grass lulled Rose into a deep sleep that even the pit in her stomach about her journey couldn’t shake, not until it was too late. She was a smart girl, had she trusted her instincts she could have lived a very happy life.

  
  
  


Hoyt slammed the drivers side door closed after him and didn’t bother with his seatbelt. He waved goodbye to Luda Mae who stared longingly after him. She loved the thrills of the road, loved scouting for roadkill more, but Monty had been bitching up a storm about his missing leg still hurting so she was forced to stay behind and tend to her brother. “Should have had Tommy shut him up for good.” He muttered as he lit his cigarette. 

  
  
  


He took his time driving, enjoying the radio the car came with and fresh air that wasn’t made stale by blood. He made sure to look with extra careful eyes for dinner, catologing every little creature he saw: a stray cat, a raccoon that had been smashed to shit, and a plump looking family pulling into a gas station. He would stow their faces away for later. If he couldn’t find anything easier he’d double back and see what magic he could work in this costume. 

  
  
  


He drove for a long time, long enough to grow bored of the country music he’d been playing and long enough that his hopes were getting dulled. He almost made a U-turn right there, but a nagging sense in the back of his head told him his luck was just a little further down the road. “Can’t argue with gut intuition, can you?” The man said to himself. He shook his head and lit up another smoke. He’d give it five minutes more down this way before saying screw it and going back.

  
  
  


It didn’t even take one. There on the road in the golden hours of the evening was an old brown station wagon. The hood was blowing off wisps of smoke and inside was a girl. “Jack pot.” 

  
  
  


Hoyt pulled over infront of the other car and got out, adjusting his shirt and flicking away his cigarette. He approached the car slowly, getting a feel for the situation. The girl looked young, not a child but not yet a real woman, and she appeared to be alone. Something in his gut confirmed that this girl would be missed, but not sought after. Maybe she had a boy back home or a family, but they wouldn’t cause too much trouble for the Hewitts if Hoyt were to steal her away. 

  
  
  


Hoyt got a closer look at her as he rapped against her window with his knuckles. She was pretty enough. A slender thing with long black hair, no makeup, and none of those hideous tattoos the younger generation seemed obsessed with. She wasn’t big, but she would do nicely. 

  
  
  


“‘Scuse me ma’am, I couldn’t help but notice you leaking fumes over here.” He greeted with a friendly smile as the young woman jolted up from her seat. He laughed at the panic on her face. She had no idea what true fear was yet, but she would. “Sorry to wake you.” 

  
  
  


She clumsily rolled her window down more and sat up, but she didn’t open her door yet.  _ Smart _ , the faux sheriff thought. She took in his costume and his friendly face and relaxed a little, the tension in her shoulders dropping and the panic from earlier dissipating.  _ But they’re all so stupid in the end _ . “Yeah, hey.” She greeted. 

  
  
  


“What happened here?” He asked, taking the time to look at what other treasures her car held. A cooler, that might be holding some beer. A purse that Luda would definitely be interested in. Not much else except trash. He made a face at all the wrappers on the floor of the passenger seat and returned his attention neatly to the girl.

  
  
  


“My car started running funny and then smoke was coming out of the engine, but I couldn’t get anyone down here to help. Figured I’d stay in here til morning and hike down to a gas station or somethin’.” She explained, looking at his name tag. 

  
  
  


“Well then I sure am glad I found you! We got to get you out of this old thing ‘fore it blows up on ya.” He smiled again. Each time he played his part his confidence grew and the shell of the old Hoyt, better known as Charlie, cracked away. 

  
  
  


“Blow up?” She sounded skeptical and looked out her windshield. “Why would it blow up?”

  
  
  


Hoyt titled his head. Maybe this girl was stupider than he thought. “This thing smells terrible, you can’t smell it?” He waved his hand to indict the hood. She shook her head.

  
  
  


“Where there’s smoke there’s fire, ‘specially with a thing like a car that has highly flammable fuel, and this thing smells like nothing but gas and smoke, hun.” 

  
  
  


Rose nodded thoughtfully. “Guess it is good you found me.” 

  
  
  


From there it was easy as pie to get the girl,  _ Rose _ , into the backseat of his car. She was trusting as she should be with an officer of the law and they made pleasant small talk on the way until she started getting fussy. She got  **_that look_ ** , the look of pure primal fear and suspicion as he drove past the only gas station in his home town without stopping. He tried to keep things light, harmless jokes to comfort her in the last peaceful minutes of her life, but the bitch didn’t want that she wanted to do things the hard way. So he had to threaten her with his shiny new gun to hush up while he drove and the acid, bitter stink of terror filled the car. There was no more use in pretending things would be okay when they both knew Rose was about to experience something awful, still Rose played her part beautifully, staying quiet until he pulled up to the house and had to drag her out from the car. Then she came alive: scratching and clawing at his face, screaming her little lungs out, and planting her heels firmly in the dirt. She was only so big, and Hoyt a lot bigger, and with a determined  _ yank _ she was off her feet and being carried into the house away from the world. Miles away in Arizona her father, David, was just sitting down to dinner and spared a thought for his daughter. He hoped she was enjoying herself on her trip and that she ate more than just greasy junk food the whole time. 

  
  
  


“Tommy!” Hoyt called when he burst through the door. Rose was still squirming and she’d managed to wedge her elbow into his ribs. Still, he held on tight not willing to give up their meal ticket over some lousy backwards hits. 

  
  
  


“You get dinner?” Luda called from elsewhere in the house, her voice hopeful and expecting. 

  
  
  


“Yeah, Mama.” 

  
  
  


Thomas Hewitt thundered up the stairs from the basement taking one look at the prize Hoyt held and took it without a word. He hoisted the girl higher in his arms, squeezing to make sure she couldn’t slip away from him. The girl screamed louder, crying now, and pleaded with him, but her whimpers fell on deaf ears and Thomas down into the basement where she stopped screaming very quickly. 

  
  
  


There was a reason Thomas held his job at the slaughterhouse for so long despite his oddities; he was a good butcher who had no problem flipping and turning heavy cuts of meat and he was sure with his cuts. He did fine work and could do things even his most capable coworker couldn’t dream of. Like making his masks. It was a delicate process that required carefully cutting, sewing, and time to dry. 

  
  
  


He revved up his saw again lamenting the deep cut he’d had to make in the woman’s stomach. It was so much neater at work when the pigs came already dead. Nevertheless, Thomas got to work starting from the feet. 

He cut easily through the tough flesh and bones of the ankles, letting heavy feet tumble to the floor. Next was separating the flesh of the thighs from the torse, keeping the slabs of meat long and thick. Then the hands came off, the shoulders, and the neck stayed attached to the torso and the head went to sit on Thomas’ workstation. The hands and feet were too sinewy and unfit for consumption so they would be dumped later. The torso was hung by a large hook hanging from the ceiling so smaller pieces could be flayed away at will, along with the arms and legs. The chill of the room would keep the meat fresh until it was all used and it hung low enough that Thomas wouldn’t worry about Mama coming down to take pieces of it. They were lucky Hoyt found such good meat out there, they were down to the last of a mostly picked over torso left from last month’s roadkill. This one had been smaller, but still good. They could last about two weeks on this one until Hoyt had to go out again. 

  
  
  


Basil leaves get rolled into a tight joint and then chopped by a sharp knife, into the pot it goes. On the stove a pot of water boils with oil and pasta. Thick cubes of meat get sprinkled with a generous pinch of salt and pepper. The chunks are added into the other simmering pot of sauce on the stove, flavors and scents combining the waft through the house. It’s spaghetti night. 

  
  
  


Dinner is delicious- Mama really knows how to cook and Thomas’ cuts of meat are perfect as usual. 

  
  
  


“Oh you’ve outdone yerself this time Luda!” Hoyt cheered, going for another plate. Thomas nodded enthusiastically. Even crotchety old Monty is in good spirits. 

  
  
  


After their meal when Monty is snoozing on the couch and Luda Mae is busy washing dishes, Hoyt takes Thomas along to go back to Rose’s car. The pair ransac the inside taking along the purse and cooler, and the wallet Rose had left behind, a sad little thing with $50, the usual cards one carried, and a picture of her as a child with a balding man. They rolled the car into the field, scratching paint off the side and popping the tires so to make it look older and abandoned. With their tracks covered Hoyt and Thomas got back into the stolen police car to make the long drive home. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It only takes seven days for the Hewitt family’s life to change for the worse as things start going wrong. 

  
  
  


Thomas left his home in the early twilight of the morning, the air outside cool and humid. He left his Mama with a kiss on her cheek and set off down to the slaughterhouse. It was a long, tiring walk, but Hoyt refused to wake up any earlier than usual to drop Thomas off, so he walked. The sun rose, as did the oppressive heat, and Thomas worked up a sweat thankfully hidden by his apron. 

  
  
  


Thomas isn’t normally the first to arrive nor the last, but when he gets to work the large imposing metal doors are still closed.  _ Did he leave at the wrong time? His Mama would have stopped him if he did. _ The doors were chained shut and there was a piece of paper taped to one of the doors flapping with the breeze. 

  
  
  


Thomas Hewitt is illiterate.

  
  
  


Between years of bullying at school and the lack of pressure to perform well academically at home, he had never made it past learning the alphabet. So whatever words are on the paper is just information lost to him. This had never happened before and it worried him. He looked around hoping that someone he worked with would magically appear and let him in or tell him what was going on, but nothing happened. It was just him and the wind, the feathery sound of paper against metal, and miles and miles of confusion.

  
  


Thomas rocked back and forth on his feet nervously. The breeze picked up and the high heat of early morning settled into something more manageable for the afternoon. He has been here with no answer for too long, so after another last look around the building Thomas takes down the note from the front doors carefully and begins his long walk home. 

  
  
  


Mama is startled seeing him walk down the dusty driveway. She’s hanging up wispy stained sheets to dry and checks her watch.  _ Not time for her baby to be back yet _ . Thomas walks tentatively to her handing her the note.  _ Company closed until further notice paychecks can be picked up from the main office any time. _

  
  
  


Luda Mae had lived in Texas her whole life, content and happy, happier still to raise her little family and see them prosper, but in all that time the meat plant had never shut down. Not even during tornadoes or on Christmas and she tried to smother the distress rising in her small frame. They had gotten on just fine before Tommy landed that job and they would be fine now. Plus, Hoyt still ran this town as sheriff and there was never any shortage of fresh meat. They would be okay without television, they had a radio, and without water, they had a well on the property they could draw from. It would be tough to go without the luxuries they’d grown accustomed to, but they would go on. 

  
  
  


Luda turned to her youngest and reached up to pat his covered cheek. “It’s alright baby. The plant is just closing for a while, nothing too serious.”

  
  
  


Thomas tilted his head watching his Mama’s face.

  
  
  


“It’s okay,” She reassured. “Go inside and clean up then bring me some lemonade. You can help me with the sheets.”

  
  
  


She watched her son follow her instructions and felt the usual swell of affection for him that she had felt ever since she saved him from the trash. He was a good boy, a mama’s boy at heart, and far too gentle for this harsh world. 

When Thomas came back to his mother’s side she had tamed her misery down. She took her drink with a grin, patting her boy’s cheek again, and set to work hanging the laundry to dry. At her insistence that she could manage without his help, but wanted his company, Thomas sat down in the grass close to her, absentmindedly ripping out baldes of grass from the earth. Playing in his mama’s shadow, resting after a long walk, reminded him of his childhood. It was nice, but he had a weird feeling in his stomach. The same feeling he got when dinner tried to run away or Hoyt set to hollering at everyone. Something bad was coming. 

  
  
  


“Well ain’t this some shit!” Hoyt cursed.

  
  
  


“What the fuck, man!” He shouted, knocking his beer onto the table just to hear the violent sound of glass hitting wood. Pieces of shit. How does an entire factory shut down overnight? He hoped any fresh meat they came across had some money on them.

  
  
  


"C'mon Tommy! We're leaving." Hoyt growled and snatched his keys off the table. No use dragging it out might as well get his nephew's last check and see if anyone in the office had any answers. 

  
  
  


The ‘main office’ turned out to be two towns over. Hoyt sped there but drives back slow, so angered by the lack of clarification from the bitch working the desk there that he’s practically vibrating with it. Beside him Thomas sits quiet as ever kept happy by the candy the woman offered him.

  
  
  


“Dumbass.” Hoyt spits at him. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to take candy from strangers?” Still he holds his palm open and waits for Thomas to share.

  
  
  


The little shit gave him a tootsie roll, mankind’s worst ever invented sweet. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Things change. How could they not? The fresh meat they relied on before twice monthly, three times if they were particularly lucky is no more. 

  
  


“Rat bastards.” Hoyt growled to himself as he sat inside the gas station by the register. Beside him Monty busied himself watching his judge shows and scratching lottery tickets. No families, or single hicks, lost school teachers, or curious idiots had stopped at the gas station in weeks and they were all stressed by it. 

  
  


At least the water and tv at home hadn’t been shut off. That had been a great joy to figure out and of course he took the credit. ‘Them pansies know not to mess with an officer of the law!’ He had boasted, but he knew, he knew that they didn’t give a flying fuck about him or his family. Hoyt was left just as puzzled as the rest of them though it felt it disrespectful to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

  
  


He thought they might have been found out; a girl’s family too interested in her disappearance, a reporter too invested, too stupid. Something like that, but the town they lived in wasn’t stupid. People around their parts knew that strangers often drove into town and didn’t drive out again, but people kept their mouths shut as long as it wasn’t one of their own. It had been that way since Luda Mae was a little girl and that woman was older than sin.

  
  


Whenever Hoyt did see a family they kept a wide berth and they all wore masks. Masks. Like they can’t bear to share the same air as him, like they’re better than him. Mocking. They definitely deserved to die, but he couldn’t get close enough even with his sheriff uniform and authority to get it done. He laments their departure in their tiny car and vows to get the next human he saw back home. 

Another day passed, the hours stretching forever, and with nothing to show for their outing Hoyt gathered Monty back into the car to go home.

  
  


Monty was smart. Well, not smarter than Hoyt and nothing compared to the wit Mama possessed when she was focused on something important, but he wasn’t stupid. He had helped scout out meals before, knew the basics of how to budget Thomas’ paycheck, and was in charge of sending out payments to the electric and water companies. Though as of late he hadn’t been able to do much of anything. Not anything helpful at least. He  _ knows  _ why. He  _ knows _ . His breathing is labored and his chest rattles with every deep breath and his head feels like it’s stuck inside the oven.

The fear of death wraps its terrifying tendrils around him, but the icy chills down his spine aren’t enough to make him speak up. If he’s wrong and alerts the family they will worry for nothing, and worrying, especially in this sort of odd time, will undoubtedly do some damage when he recovers. If he recovers. If he’s right, and he suspects he is, then he’s had a good- well, a  _ long _ life and he’s been too sour about missing his leg anyway to enjoy it for some time now. 

  
  


As coughs rattle his chest Monty relaxes himself on the couch. It’s his time to go and he is ready. 

  
  


Mama’s scream sends the birds in the trees outside flocking away in alarm. 

  
  


Monty hadn’t responded with protest to her banging around the kitchen and clattering pans together, which was out of the ordinary, but with his cold as of late Luda supposed he was still resting. And oh he was rested alright. At 4:09 am while the rest of the Hewitts slept soundly, Monty passed away in his sleep. There was no pain and no witness except for the lonely moonlight shining in from the living room window. The world kept on turning.

  
  


He looked awful, more so than he had while he was alive. His skin was yellowed like a half eaten bite of chicken left out in the open air, his lips were blue, and his eyes glazed over. 

  
  


“He died as he lived: uneventfully.” Hoyt announced when he saw what all the fuss was about. He closed Monty’s eyelids with a sigh and turned to hold Luda who sobbed continuously. “Aw Mama it’s okay. We’ll have Thomas dig a grave.” 

  
  


Mama rattles the house with her womanly sobbing, keeping Thomas close for comfort. Hoyt ends up being the one who has to dig Monty’s grave, and he curses up a storm the entire time. What was the point of making him do when Tommy was big as hell and stronger than any of them? But Luda hadn’t been able to let Thomas out of her sight long enough for him to dig very deep into the Earth.

  
  


His nephew was healthy as a horse, what the hell was that bitch worried about? He wasn’t going to keel over if he was more than a foot away from her. Still, Hoyt was made to dig because Mama had an air of final say and a startling bass to her voice even in her grief. 

  
  


Once the grave was deep enough Hoyt instructed Tommy to drop Monty in. He looked like a ghoul, devoid of human color and mouth stiffened open. At least his eyes were closed. No one had much to say other than goodbye and rest easy, so Hoyt got busy covering Monty up with dirt. Mama waddled inside her eyes burning red and Thomas helped her to bed. Once Luda was settled beneath her floral covers with a cool glass of water she beckoned Thomas to sit with her a while. 

  
  


“My good boy,” She cooed as she pet Thomas’ hair. “You won’t leave me will you?” 

  
  


Her voice was quiet, hoarse, and Thomas nodded trying to reassure her. He looked behind him making sure Hoyt wasn’t in the doorway and leaned close to his Mama’s head. 

  
  


“Mama,” He croaked. His voice was low and broke frequently from being out of use for so long. ”Love.” 

  
  


Luda Mae beamed up at her son, her glorious baby, grown so fast and so quiet. He only ever spoke when the two were alone and never in full sentences, but a mother knew. Always knew what her baby was trying to say. 

  
  


“I love you too, baby.” She smiled. “Mama needs her rest now, Tommy. Be a good boy and go help Hoyt.” 

  
  


Thomas gave his Mama one last look before he followed her instructions, trudging down the stairs and going back out into the searing heat to help fill in Monty’s grave. If he knew that would be the last time he’d see his mother alive Thomas Hewitt would not have left her side, but he didn’t know, how could he know when she didn’t even know herself? But that night after Thomas was tucked into the basement working on his trinkets and Hoyt was drinking his sense away on the couch watching late night porn, Luda Mae Hewitt took her last breath upsatirs in her bed thinking of Monty’s passing, Hoyt’s refusal to cry, and her sweet son Thomas.

  
  


In the morning Thomas found her pale as a sheet and unmoving. He poked and prodded her and even made his high squealing vocalizations to try to get her up and moving but still his Mama laid still. Hoyt heard the commotion and stomped up to Luda’s room to see what all the fuss was about. There he found his nephew crying over his mother’s body, wailing louder than he had ever heard him, animalistic and full of grief. 

“Died of a broken heart,” Hoyt diagnosed. He stared down at Luda Mae fondly and reached out to brush her hair from her face.

  
  


“Damn woman.” He whispered. 

  
  


What a shame it was. Monty they could all live without. The bastard had grown more and more mean in his old age and did nothing but stew in his own misery about losing his leg all those years ago. Sure, it was sad, but only because he was family, but losing Mama? Now that was a crying shame and even he couldn’t fault Tommy for howling the way he was. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Luda Mae’s funeral takes considerably more amounts of work. For starters, it takes a full day of pleading, screaming, and grabbing to get Thomas to let go of his Mama. One of the downsides of having a huge hulking man for a nephew is that he is as unmoveable as stone when he wants to be. Once Thomas finally let go of Mama enough for Hoyt to lift her gently and carry her carefully downstairs he started up with his crying again, which would have been fine if the boy knew how to keep quiet. The reverberating sound of Tommy crying followed him like a mist throughout the house and even extends outside, spooking the birds and any wildlife that may have been near. He sounded like something straight out of a ghost story, his mourning full of high notes and unrestrained pain. Even the most violently butchered dinners they’d come by had never made such noises.

  
  
  


With a lot more hugging than he was comfortable with Hoyt finally got Tommy’s caterwauling down to mere sniffles and sent the boy off to pick some flowers, ‘ _ nice ones boy’ _ , for Mama’s final resting place. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but Mama would have wanted her grave to be pretty and she deserved it. She was the glue that held their little family together, the light in their hearts, and the reason they still knew how to be tender.

  
  
  


She was a good woman, a saint even, a mother, a sister, anything you needed her to be she was and she was with dignity and grace. Hoyt cleared his throat and coughed up phlegm, taking note of how odd it was for him, and went back to digging a neat little rectangle next to Monty’s. Mama’s death had taken something essential from them and Hoyt knew he would miss that woman for the rest of his life.

  
  
  


“Going and leavin’ us like that Luda, and for what? To be with Monty?” He spoke softly to himself not wanting to upset Thomas if he came back so soon.

  
  
  


“Old bag.” He cursed. 

  
  
  


By the time Mama’s grave was dug Hoyt was out of breath. There was an odd pressure on his chest that no amount of chugged water or bending over could help. He wasn’t sure if it was because the world’s greatest woman had been taken from them or because of the heat that scorched the land of Texas or something else, but it was a real bother and he sat on the porch waiting for his nephew to return, rubbing his chest and throat. 

It doesn’t click at first. Not until Tommy is turning teary eyes on him and bringing him more glasses of water than he can keep up with. He is sick. He’s been rubbing his chest to no avail and now he’s coughing the same deathly rattle that Monty had been and he’s sure now that he’s got a fever. 

  
  
  


He can’t die now, he’s got shit to do and Tommy to take care of, but he knows that God doesn’t care about that. If the Lord wants him the Lord will take him and there’s nothing he can do about it. But Tommy’s eyes speak louder than words and he knows his nephew is terrified. It tugs on his heart strings, ones he thought had been killed off long ago in the war, and he finds himself coddling the boy as the days go on. 

  
  
  


“Y’know this is the last meat we caught before things started going to shit.” Hoyt muses. He washes down the jerky with milk and takes a bite of the mashed potatoes he’d put together. 

  
  
  


“Well Tommy, it’s just like I always say,” Thomas looks at him expectedly, giving him his full attention just how Hoyt liked it to be.

  
  
  


“Life’s a bitch!” Hoyt laughed going back to his meal. 

  
  
  


There was a lot Hoyt wanted to say to Thomas. He wanted to tell him that he would be dead soon, but that Tommy shouldn’t worry too much about it. He wanted to tell him that he loved him but that was a pussy thing to do and he was pretty sure the boy already knew. Most of all he wanted to apologize for leaving Thomas alone in the world like Monty and Mama, but couldn’t find the courage to say it. All the horrors he had faced in war and all the awful pain he inflicted on others without a care in the world, but he couldn’t talk to his boy. He hoped Tommy knew anyhow. The kid was smart when it came to reading the room and people. He probably knew. 

  
  
  


Feeling like that was as close as he would come to closure, Hoyt suggested they call it a night and he started for his bedroom before thinking better of it and settled on the couch. It would be easier to get him outside if he was on the ground floor to begin with. He bundled himself up with a blanket and laid on his back listening to Tommy rinse their dishes in the sink. His nephew walked by the couch and even in with the night shrouding him Hoyt knew he was watching his uncle with anxiety.

  
  
  


“Goodnight kiddo!” He said as cheerfully as he could, prompting Tommy to go to bed. And away Thomas Hewitt went, clambering upstairs not to his own bedroom but to his Mama’s where he had taken to sleeping to feel closer to her memory. He was unsure if his uncle would be okay but he desperately hoped he would be. He closed his eyes and sleep came easily though he tossed and turned frequently during the night while downstairs Hoyt’s body set into rigor mortis. 

  
  


Thomas woke with the sun and stayed in bed for a few minutes just enjoying the light breeze tickling his window curtains. He missed his mother terribly, but the last thing she said to him was to be good, so good he would be. 

  
  
  


He splashed water onto his face and put on a fresh mask, the face of a plain woman he had constructed many years ago, and got dressed for the day: heavy boots, button up shirt, and dark jeans. Thomas ventured into the basement where they kept the meat and scournged up some jerky he had made months ago and brought it up to the kitchen. He set it on a plate and left it for Monty, taking a few strips of the seasoned, wrinkled meat for himself and set out. He watered Mama’s flowers. Bushes of purple flowers lined one side of the house, her pride and joy besides himself, so he watered them carefully. 

  
  
  


He sat on the porch twirling a flower in his hand. A daisy he thought, and stared out at the recently disturbed patches of Earth. Monty’s passing had been sad enough already, but his Mama too? That didn’t seem far and Thomas was surprised that underneath his sadness he felt anger about the whole thing. 

  
  
  


He’s close enough to the door that he should hear Hoyt moving around, but to his growing anxiety the house remains silent. He knows what he will find inside.

  
  


Thomas spends another day digging a grave and buries his uncle. He makes a few mournal squeals and hopes that it means something, that Hoyt would have liked to have some noise at his burial. He also places a sad bouquet of flowers on his grave, something he knows Hoyt would not have appreciated, but does so anyway because it’s what his Mama would have done. 

  
  
  


When the deed is done Thomas sits alone on his family’s porch staring out into the dusty field of their land feeling sorry for himself and like he could drown any second in the ever growing depression he feels. His eyes rake over the three graves in a neat line and Thomas Hewitt resigns himself to die alone. 

  
  



End file.
